


not even into another eternity

by arashiyama (harukatenoh)



Series: teeth clenched in moonlight [2]
Category: World Trigger
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-27 10:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13878849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harukatenoh/pseuds/arashiyama
Summary: Jin Yuuichi was the owner of a store, tucked away in some alley in the middle of Tokyo. Jin Yuuichi sold fortunes from this store.His customers were the lost and the lacking, brought to his store so he could give them direction, so when Arashiyama Jun turns down the offer of a fortune, Yuuichi is caught off guard. When Arashiyama Jun keeps coming back, despite not wanting a fortune, Yuuichi begins to see the future play out, crystal clear, totally opaque.





	not even into another eternity

**Author's Note:**

> vaguely inspired by xxxholic, vaguely inspired by studio ghibli in general. what's w me and not introducing xter names until halfway through the fic.
> 
> work title from begin again by purity ring. a playlist you should listen to while reading is [this](https://open.spotify.com/user/jojiwoji/playlist/7wBO3nOI0wyu1PbCnd8j41?si=f-hCY-ZDR0yk3k6UgBxgZQ)

Jin Yuuichi was the owner of a store, tucked away in some alley in the middle of Tokyo. It was in the middle of nowhere, as in the middle of nowhere as something could be in Tokyo, which was the definition of _somewhere_. Only those lacking any true direction could stumble upon the storefront, unassuming but enticing, beckoning whichever lost soul that had found themselves on the doorstep to enter.

Jin Yuuichi sold fortunes from this store. His fortunes came in the shape of paper, tucked into slender wooden cylinders that he kept behind the counter. Everytime a customer walked in, he would cast an eye over them and feel his hands begin to itch as their fortune unravelled in front of his eyes, thrummed through his blood.

The customer, lost soul, traveller, would ask for _direction_ behind the guise of buying a fortune, and Yuuichi would go into the back of his store, pull out paper and a brush, and draw them a map in the form of a few characters. Then, he would slip the paper into the cylinder, making sure it wouldn’t smudge or tear, and hand over the fortune.

 _Name your price_ , he would say. Most of the time, he received a five-yen coin as was customary.

Sometimes the customers left nothing behind to indicate they had ever been in his store, had ever needed his guidance.

Other times, he would receive any number of things: secrets, memories, treasured possessions, gloves for the winter, books to pass the time, lights for his store, tea for his insomnia.

He didn’t mind what they decided his fortunes were worth. Cartography was an intricate science, not one to be clouded by notions like _give-and-take_ or _repayment_. He sketched their maps and wrote their fortunes and asked for nothing in return because sometimes, if landscapes and paths and terrains weren’t mapped out, they would be forgotten and discarded, and Yuuichi hated to see things left behind, unfulfilled. He laid out every uncharted path of the future, urging his customers to walk steadily and sure, and hoped that it would be enough.

It wasn’t a bad job. A lot of the time, his customers would talk to him and he would talk back and for a brief, stunning moment, the two would _click_ and there would be nobody lost, nobody tethered. They would just be two people, not headed anywhere but not wanting direction. Simply being.

He heard a lot of stories, and it wasn’t uncommon for people to come back two, three, four more times, bringing back updates and letting Yuuichi watch as they slowly found themselves.

Once, a customer on the verge of leaving—and it would be her last time coming here, they both knew—had told him that she didn’t think it was the fortunes that helped people find their way. That, half of the time, it was _Yuuichi_ that kept each restless heart coming back, setting them back on track.

That night, Yuuichi had climbed up to the loft above the store that he called home, laid in his bed, and slept soundly.

* * *

 

The bell above the door rings one day, alerting Yuuichi to a new customer. He put the book he was reading away; something a teenage boy had dropped off on his last visit to the store, accompanied with a heartfelt thanks. It was nice, slow and easy to read, reminding him of peaceful times spent inside a quiet, empty store.

“Oh,” the customer said, breathless from the cold outside. It was snowing, an unusually cold autumn at his doorstep, but the weather never really made a difference to the amount of visitors Yuuichi’s store got. “Hello,”

The customer’s cheeks were red and eyes blinking, his face as he looked around the store giving the impression that he couldn’t quite believe his luck. It was a fair reaction. It wasn’t every day one stumbled upon the future in the form of a studio.

Yuuichi watched the customer with uninterested eyes as he took off his scarf and hung it on the coat rack next to the doorway, feeling the familiar itch run through him as the future began to fall into place in his eyes.

The customer then turned his gaze to the counter, and Yuuichi behind it; the last thing he took in in the store. Reading the neatly written sign on the counter, the customer said “You sell fortunes,”

Yuuichi nodded. “Yes,” he said with a polite smile, “would you like one?” It was a little pointless for him to ask. Nobody came to his store unless they needed his expertise.

The customer had an immediate response.

Shaking head, downcast eyes, soft smile.

“No, thank you. I think I’ll just catch my breath here for a while, if that’s okay?” quietly said, heavily received.

_No, thank you._

_No_.

Yuuichi was, very forcibly and very unwelcomingly, made aware of what it felt like to be out of place. He had never had somebody turn down a fortune before; that was what his store was _for_ , the reason anybody found this place. After a slight nod, he watched as a brighter smile crossed across the customer’s—if he could even be called that anymore—face. He moved towards the other side of the store. There sat a few chairs, a couch and a coffee table, because the place Yuuichi’s profession made its home was more of a way station than anything; an extended liminal space for people who needed to regain their bearings.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do. The itch in his hands was still present, the desire to spill out destinies onto canvas left with nowhere to go, so he had to direct it towards something else. With a hesitant shuffle, he made his way to the stove and sink that sat adjacent to his counter and made tea; a brew that an old woman had left behind a few days ago that he hadn’t yet tried.

The steady rhythm of work helped him focus. Turn on the tap. Fill up the kettle. Turn off the tap. Turn on the stove. Wait.

Wait, wait, and wait.

The steps fell into place in front of Yuuichi’s eyes. It felt like its own special foresight; going through a procedure that was perfected and familiar, and it helped calm Yuuichi when he poured the tea into two cups, one for him, and one for his not-customer.

He placed the cups, and the teapot, on a tray and relished in the way the weight sat well-known in his hands.

“Would you like some tea?” He asked, careful not to show any of his earlier disorientation. The not-customer, who had been studying the potted plants that lined the wall opposite him, looked up and smiled again, nodding with a pleased “Oh yes, thank you!”

Yuuichi set down the tray, picked up the teacup and placed it in front of the not-customer, picked up the tray again and walked back to his counter.

Tray on counter. Teacup lifted. Teacup placed down. Book lifted. Page turned.

Wait, wait, wait.

He managed to concentrate on the book, to the point that he lost count of the pages he read. When the not-customer stood up to leave, Yuuichi didn’t notice until he was standing in front of the counter.

He looked up at the sound of a clearing throat, and saw the not-customer proffering a clenched hand. Wordlessly, he put his open hand underneath it.

A five-yen coin dropped into his palm.

“Thank you for the tea,” the not-customer said, bowing his head and smiling without his eyes. Yuuichi could only nod in response.

Then, he was standing up, wrapping his scarf around himself again, and braving the cold outside. And even though Yuuichi was holding a five-yen coin to prove it, it felt a little like he had never been in the store at all.

* * *

 

A few days passed, with Yuuichi eventually being able to push the discomfort of having somebody leave his store lesser, lacking, wanting, to the back of his mind.

Then, early in the morning, when the sun was still waking up and Yuuichi was still pretending like he could fall asleep, there was a knock on the door.

The store had no hours. Yuuichi was almost always awake to hear any callers, and there were things revealed in the black of night that he would have never found in the daytime.

Wandering down the stairs, he pulled open the door. The customer stood there, buried as deeply in winter clothing as he had been last time, a hand raised in what was probably a wave.

Yuuichi, almost totally on autopilot, stepped aside and welcomed him in.

This could be many things. Each possibility spread out in front of Yuuichi’s eyes, telling him he needed to be proactive to change the future. This could be— a _second chance,_ a better future, an opportunity to make things right.

Last time, he had been passive. But Yuuichi was an expert in this, in retracing each customer’s steps and pinpointing their needs and adapting to the situation. This not-customer wanted a fortune; Yuuichi just had to show him the way. Put in a little more effort than he had before, because it was never good to get complacent, and a difficult not-customer was the best way the world had to remind him of that.

In a store selling fortunes, situated in the middle of nowhere, Tokyo, Yuuichi started over.

“Welcome back,” was said as the not-customer hangs up his scarf in the same place he had put it last time, “have you reconsidered? I only sell the best, you know,”

The not-customer turned his eyes to the counter once again, reading the sign like it was the first time he’s seeing it. He seemed to consider it, a meandering thought that eventually emptied into the sea and came up for air with a simple “I’m afraid not, I’m sorry. Is that… is that okay?”

Yuuichi couldn’t decide whether it was something written into his contract or written deeper into his bones when his being revolted against the unsure expression on the not-customer’s face. He didn’t think he was allowed to turn anybody away. He didn’t want to. For somebody who ran a store better likened to a sanctuary, to turn anybody away and force them back into the cold was beyond cruel, unthinkable.

He smiled.

“Perfectly fine, don’t worry. Why don’t you take a seat?”

The not-customer dipped his head and moved towards the couches again, his eyes straying over the plants in greeting as he walked, steps surer than the echo of all other paces that had been taken in the store.

Yuuichi sensed, with the same itch he sensed futures and fates, that this not-customer would be back. It was a strangely comforting feeling, the idea that he would have chance and chance again to map out this fortune that eluded him so, waiting until he finally got it right. He’d always been on the uncanny side, instincts honed beyond his years and beyond his profession.

In the early morning, he served his first not-customer his favourite flavour of tea, gifted to him several months ago by a wayward customer. Behind the counter, he picked up the book from the teenage boy of days past and began to read, losing himself in the easy rhythm of the words.

Yuuichi didn’t count the minutes that tick past, but he still knew how long it had been when the not customer asked “Where did you get that book?”

He placed a bookmark between the pages, the old string on a teabag, and put it down gently.

“It was given to me as payment,” he said, pushing the book across the counter in the direction of the not-customer. He stood up from his seat, wandering over to pick the book up and examined it with a soft, curious gaze.

“Payment for a fortune?” He asked.

“For two, actually,” Yuuichi corrected. A smile formed on the not-customer’s face, and he lifted his head to meet Yuuichi’s eyes.

“You accept books as payment for your fortunes?”

Yuuichi shrugged, gaze trailing to the cup of tea sitting on his counter, a matching one on the coffee table a few metres away. “Books, tea, stories, clothing, potted plants. I’m not picky.”

The smile came back on the not-customer’s face, stronger this time.

“Do you accept card?” he asked, his soft tone belying the jest in the words. Yuuichi was caught off guard for the barest of moments before he matched the smile with one of his own, potent in its easy delight.

“2000 yen minimum,” he replied.

The not-customer laughed.

His eyes closed in mirth, mouth stretched and head slightly tipped back, and Yuuichi watched as his future rolled out in front of him like a red carpet, wondered why anybody would deny themself a future as welcoming as the one he saw.

“Perhaps I’ll bring you something next time, then,” uttered once the future was once again as obscure as it always is, placed behind a veil that only required the push of a dedicated hand to reveal. The words managed to weave a _goodbye_ and a _I’ll see you again_ together seamlessly, making it feel like the two weren’t meant to exist apart on most days. The oath of _next time_ was always a heavy one when promised in an establishment such as Yuuichi’s. Everybody expected and didn’t expect a _next time_ in equal measure because the nature of wayfinding was finicky and flighty; the future could slip in and out of reach with the precision of a mocking, flickering candle flame.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Yuuichi said, and it felt like the first time he’d voiced the words.

The not-customer bowed to him, the smile still there, even if barely. Yuuichi didn’t quite think he wanted to see him again, yet, this not-customer predicted a _next time_ with assurance that Yuuichi held only with years of training, practice and study.

The door to his store slipped shut, and Yuuichi noticed that there was still a light red scarf gracing the presence of his store.

 _Next time_ came hung on a coat rack, the colour of not quite luck.

* * *

 

The potted plants that lined the walls of Yuuichi’s store had never been paid much attention to. The pots had always been there; the seeds of the plants carried in by customers pulling in from all over the city, from all over the country. It was another way that life found a way to announce its presence, each person leaving behind a root to describe where they had once been as they moved forward.

Yuuichi, naturally, preferred the future, but it was important to mark the past.

He never tended to them, never really spared them a glance outside of occasionally giving them away, because nothing was meant to stay in this store, plants included. In between their homes, they would always stay the same; green, leafy, never quite blooming but always alive, static like the time that passed around them.

The morning after his second encounter with the not-customer, Yuuichi walked down the stairs and came to face with the colour of change. Some of the plants were flowering. In the leftmost pot, there were small flowers spreading out to become pinpricks of white, a wafting scent that Yuuichi could recognize as jasmine. Near it, smaller drops of white decorated the green, faces turned to the sun that they couldn’t see.

He blinked, looking down at the plants with budding amazement.

The flowers told him that his store was no longer so much of an _in between_ ; if a plant was willing to germinate, to flower, to seed, in his store, it meant that there might be something here worth staying for.

He wondered what it was.

* * *

 

Time passed steadily, as it always did. It was a week or so before the not-customer found his way back to the store. Yuuichi hadn’t been keeping count; he was always too busy to do anything but leave time be, but when the door swung open and the not-customer came in, there was a quiet expectation that was fulfilled.

“Welcome,” he said, and then continued, “would you like a fortune this time?”

Third time lucky, perhaps. Like always, his three-time companion took a moment to consider it, before shaking his head.

“Not this time, either,” the not-customer said, his eyes taking in the untouched presence of his old scarf on the coat rack, a smile easing onto his face. He reached up for it, folding it in his hands as he turns to Yuuichi. “You didn’t take it.”

Yuuichi shook his head, already reaching out for the teapot. “I think you need that more than I do,” he replied, eyes on the way the not-customer’s neck had been left bare to the elements, his nose red and teeth clacking. He laughed in response, a slight nod given as he looked down fondly at the scarf.

“Maybe I do,” he conceded as he unfolded it and carefully wrapped it around him. It was a movement filled with care, with practice. The realization that the scarf was worth much more than some time and a cup of tea entered Yuuichi’s consciousness, leaving him to almost miss the next words. “It was supposed to be my payment for last time,”

Water filled up the kettle silently, filling up his time as he watched the stream trickle down.

“You’ll just have to pay me with something extra good this time,” he responded, as if he promised reimbursement more than tea and some quiet company. Outside of his fortunes, Yuuichi couldn’t offer much, yet this voyager kept coming back to harbour.

“Arashiyama Jun,”

The water wavered.

Yuuichi turned off the tap.

The not-customer was watching him—Yuuichi could feel it—when he said “I never told you my name. Arashiyama Jun. That’s my payment for last time,”

A customer once told Yuuichi about her travels to Arashiyama. She had been a good storyteller. It had been an easy tale to get wrapped up in, the wafting, ebullient beauty of the mountain and the cherry blossoms that haunted it; whispering bamboo forests and silently imposing shrines.

Yuuichi had always wanted to visit; now, it felt like a little piece of it had come to him.

“I think I owe you more than a cup of tea for that payment,” he said, turning around with a smile. “Are you sure you don’t want a fortune? I have a good feeling about yours,” and this comment was accompanied with a wink, just for good measure, and also because Yuuichi was a little afraid of the answer.

He shouldn’t have been. As easily as a tide crashes into shore, Arashiyama smiled his rejection and shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m very happy with what you’ve been doing so far,” he told  Yuuichi.

Yuuichi found, like in so little situations, that he had to ask.

“Why not?”

Arashiyama stopped in motion. It was never quite clear to Yuuichi’s eyes, so trained in looking into the future, what motion Arashiyama was always in, but there was a restless energy to him that poured out in every movement, every breath. It was the kind of energy that told Yuuichi there was somewhere Arashiyama needs to be, something pushing him along but for his lack of direction.

Yuuichi could solve that problem. Nobody belonged in his store, stuck in a way station where nothing quite moved and nothing quite changed, but least of all people like Arashiyama.

There was a shrug. An apologetic smile. An “It’s a heavy weight to have on your shoulders, I suppose. A fortune.”

The water finished boiling with a soft _hiss,_  and Yuuichi forced himself through the motions as he took that in. He thought about cherry blossom petals, falling this way and that without any set path, at the mercy of the currents and nothing more. He thought about the wind, twisting through bamboo as it split and rejoined and split again, moving around every obstacle without regard for pathways or plans.

Yuuichi could see it, well enough. He could see the future, as an expectation, as something to be fulfilled. Maps became deadlines, restricting restless energies to walking along set trails and paved paths. The red carpet of prior visions became something to live up to, and while Yuuichi couldn’t relate to it he could understand it; the kind of weight that a fortune might cause somebody like Arashiyama Jun.

He didn’t know Arashiyama at all, but he thought he understood. The concepts were new and unmapped lands for him, but there was nothing that thrilled him quite like making sense of a yet-unexplored area.

And, taking that same feeling and applying it to Arashiyama, Yuuichi understood his favourite not-customer’s urge to carve out his own path on the cliff face.

“I see,” Yuuichi said, because seeing was what he did best.

Arashiyama smiled, and gestured towards their tea cups. “What flavour today?”

Yuuichi offered him the box of tea; an old and well loved one. “Peppermint,” He told him, breathing in the scent as he poured the tea into their teacups. It was the one he served most in the store. Clarity was often found in the sharp edges of peppermint tea, and if the search was fruitless, it was at least homey. Peppermint had long been a symbol of hospitality, and that was what Yuuichi specialized in.

Arashiyama picked up the box, examining it with an absent smile, telling Yuuichi “Peppermint is one of my favourites,”

Arashiyama, with his bright smiles and welcoming laugh, was a hospitable person. Yuuichi finished pouring the tea into their cups and offered Arashiyama his, which he took with a smile and a murmured thanks. Yuuichi was left uncertain, whether to return to his sentry place behind the counter, or stay at the sink and continue their conversation.

Arashiyama answered his hesitations by stepping away from the sink, heading towards the sitting area. Yuuichi took his teacup. Arashiyama stopped to smile at the plants. Yuuichi moved back behind the counter. Arashiyama took a seat.

Their routine built itself, bricking up the walls around them to protect from the cold outside, leaving them wrapped in the safety of pattern and far, far away from the outside world. Yuuichi found that he didn’t mind the isolation. It didn’t exactly feel like isolation, not when Arashiyama was there.

Yuuichi picked up his book, spurred on by the comfort of familiarity. He lost himself in the words, in taking sips of tea, in listening to the occasional rustle as his silent companion shifted in his seat.

For once, Yuuichi lost track of time. The sense of tranquility being around Arashiyama he was lured into had captured him, trapped him, leaving him off guard when Arashiyama stood up and announced that he was leaving.

“Thank you for the tea,” Arashiyama said.

“And my payment?” asked Yuuichi.

Arashiyama smiled. “I’ll give you a promise. See you again, and next time, I’ll ask your name.”

A part of Yuuichi wanted to say that they didn’t need til _next time_ for that, but the novelty of the words themselves caught his tongue, leaving him quiet. He didn’t want to ruin a _next time_. The two words shad become Yuuichi’s own little fortune; a surety of the future because something told him that Arashiyama would never back out of his word. Any promise was more a guarantee, a granted, a given.

* * *

 

Routine had always been something Yuuichi found solace and comfort in, so when Yuuichi realised that Arashiyama had become part of his routine, he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Arashiyama never came on a set schedule, the time stretching out between his visits varying from days to weeks. Arashiyama had an entire life, one that was sure to be prosperous and fast-paced, to keep him away from the store. In turn, Yuuichi had his own slow moving but definite duties to attend to, giving him no time or presence of mind to do anything like wait by the door for his curious not-customer's return.

However, when it felt like it had been too long since he had seen Arashiyama, a private feeling that Yuuichi only shared with the plants lining the store when he watered them, the man would always appear the next day. An internal clock, born just to co-ordinate the urges of Yuuichi's fraught heart with the whims of Arashiyama Jun's busy life.

Somewhere along the line, unseen by Yuuichi yet unsurprising, he had taken to sitting with Arashiyama on the couches during his visits. It felt a little like a breach of contract; the counter had been his last defence against the traps of a normal life, a life that he wasn't allowed to touch, yet Arashiyama drew him out with gentle words and enthusiastic stories. They would pass the—the minutes, hours? Yuuichi never paid attention anymore—like they weren’t passing at all, like they were wrapped up in their own little world, address 0, Middle of Nowhere, Tokyo.

“The plants are flowering,” Arashiyama commented in lieu of a greeting, pushing his way into the store with a familiarity that was both dangerous and exhilirating.

“Not my doing. They have a mind of their own, those plants,” Yuuichi replied, not bothering to conceal the smile on his face. Nobody had anything to hide, not in this store.

Arashiyama smiled in return, nodding his head in greeting at the plants like he always did. “Maybe you should start helping them along anyway. I think they brighten the place up,”

“Don’t enter my store and immediately insult the decor,” Yuuichi responded in amusement. “You’re not even buying anything,”

Arashiyama looked down at the steaming teacup that had already been placed on the table in anticipation of his visit. Picking it up, he murmured “I buy tea,” and pointedly took a sip.

It was still a little too hot to comfortably drink, but his face didn’t show anything but a stubborn smile.

Yuuichi felt like rolling his eyes, and only stopped himself from doing so in a last shot at defending his professionalism.

“This isn’t a teashop. That’s basically complimentary,” he retorted.

Arashiyama’s smile flickered, replaced by a curious, musing expression that immediately amplified the silence in the store as it waited for his next words.

“Then maybe,” he said slowly, putting down the teacup, “maybe I’m here for the good company.”

And Yuuichi began to recall. Recall a face long gone telling him that she thought most of the time, it was _him_ bringing people back and not the fortunes, except this was not the same as then because that had only been a customer and this was _Arashiyama Jun_ , not-customer, maybe-friend, something-else-altogether, Arashiyama Jun. There was a marked difference between a passing face telling him that he dealt in amity as much as he dealt in fortunes and Arashiyama telling him he was good company, enough to keep him coming back despite the fortunes.

With a few words, Arashiyama was beginning to shape the future. Yuuichi realized he wanted a hand in this future as well.

An easy smile, accompanied with “You don’t have to pay for that,”

And where Yuuichi’s smile had been easy, Arashiyama’s was effortless, spreading across his features as he beamed at Yuuichi. It was overwhelming, in the way the greatest things are; Arashiyama Jun was always on the path of greatness.

“I hope my company is good enough for you to look over my lack of purchases, in that case,” he said, sitting across from Yuuichi on the couches but feeling closer than ever.

“It’s more than enough,” Yuuichi promised.

“Let’s consider it an equal exchange,” Arashiyama pledged.

Yuuichi had never considered it important what he got in return for his fortunes, it was an art beyond the notion of payment. However, it was a nice thought to apply to company, to time, to presence. The thought of getting something given back, of reaping the benefits of what he sowed. It was unsettling to discover, but Yuuichi didn’t mind giving as much as he could, and getting that back in return, if it was Arashiyama. Between them, an equal exchange always felt just like that; equal.

* * *

 

“Jin,” said one day, several visits after Yuuichi had handed over his name to his constant not-customer, as he sat behind the counter and practiced his brushstrokes. He never needed to practice, not when the movements were ingrained deeper in him than instinct, but it kept his hands moving and the still-present itch to chart at bay.

“Yes?” He responded, placing the brush down, his eyes following the movement.

“Have you—” cut off, the silence that continued on afterwards hesitant and unsure, “We should go somewhere.”

Yuuichi immediately knew what Arashiyama was asking of him.

“I can’t leave the store untended, Arashiyama,” Yuuichi explained softly, unable to look up and meet the not-customer’s gaze. He was so deceitful, Yuuichi was, because Arashiyama Jun was so much more than a customer, or a not-customer and any attempt to reduce him to such was just Yuuichi, running from his own heart. Arashiyama Jun was something Yuuichi could never touch, somebody who rejected his future for the fear of burden and embraced his unknowns for the love of trying, somebody who didn’t belong here.

Arashiyama Jun had no place in this quiet store in the middle of nowhere. Jin Yuuichi had never known anything else.

“Only for a few hours,” Arashiyama said, tone wistful. “Consider it me buying a fortune from you. Please put a few hours outside of this store in my future, Jin Yuuichi.”

Yuuichi smiled at that, despite the fact his heart was heavy and running, dripping down like the ink that fell from his paintbrush.

“You can’t choose your own fortune, Arashiyama,” he murmured.

“No,” Arashiyama replied. “I think I can. I think you can, too.”

It was easy to believe. Arashiyama was steadfast in everything he did, and it was so easy to allow himself to be pulled along. Yuuichi had let this get too far, let himself get too attached.

But, Yuuichi was, above all, a professional.

“I can’t write my own fate. I can’t even see it.” His eyes, traitorous and desperate, met Arashiyama’s. The rest of him was mercifully calm.

It was clear that Arashiyama’s next words were chosen without hesitation, on a pure, powerful sort of impulse. “There’s more to life than where you’re going. Sometimes it’s okay to just be, Jin; without a direction. Give me two hours, and I’ll show you the merits of not having a plan.”

Arashiyama would make a wonderful employee at his store, with the way his words dripped golden and convincing.

“That’s a big thing to ask of me,” Yuuichi replied, acting like he hadn’t made up his mind already.

Arashiyama broke into a smile.

“I’ll pay you handsomely. Two hours, and I’ll let you write a fortune for me.”

He put out his hand. Yuuichi, slowly, made his way out from behind the counter, and took in the strangest sight that had blessed his store; somebody more than a customer, less than a customer, offering him something Yuuichi could never offer in return.

Yuuichi reflected, with the clarity of hindsight and foresight, that it would be a shame, to restrict Arashiyama with a fortune.

* * *

 

The door clicked behind Yuuichi with quiet finality, like the store was telling him that nothing would be the same again.

He took a step into the cold air outside, winter having yet to surrender Tokyo. He had to blink a few times to adjust to the world outside, ever-changing and shifting against his skin, billowing around him like smoke and steam, pushing forwards and then pulling back as easily.

Yuuichi had spent his whole life in a store where things weren’t meant to progress; a dot on a continuous line. Being outside felt a little like watching the future fall into place, right in front of his eyes.

“Let’s go,” Arashiyama said, pulling on his sleeve as Yuuichi realized he was woefully underdressed. With his other hand, Arashiyama offered his scarf; the light red one that continued to hover around the store, looking like this was what it had been meant for all along.

Yuuichi accepted the scarf. Yuuichi let Arashiyama pull him further away, further out.

The present was _dizzying_. In the best way possible, Yuuichi was caught up in the flowing tide of time, forgetting completely to look where he was going as he was dragged along, half-unwilling, half-more-than-willing. Even when it felt like he would be swept away completely, Arashiyama would be there to hold him back, and Yuuichi began to understand the kind of resolve it took for somebody to live everyday through that kind of change.

On a spur, Yuuichi told Arashiyama this.

Arashiyama, surrounded by snow and neon lights, replied “There’s a special kind of resolve in remaining constant, too,”

Yuuichi understood, because Arashiyama had begun to be a constant in his life, and it had been a slow moving glacier for them both.

They walked around, peering into storefronts and riversides and parkways, never looking too closely to be caught but always finding the details, and Yuuichi saw and saw and kept seeing, lines of possibility spread out in front of him, each one for his own taking.

A glowing sign in the corner of a shop’s window drew his eye in, and the hand that he had around Arashiyama’s tightened.

“Arashiyama,” he asked, “is it Christmas Eve?”

Arashiyama made his expression, part-sheepish and part-pleased, look completely natural when he beamed back at Yuuichi.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice lighter than the snowflakes brushing at Yuuichi’s cheek, “I lied. I might’ve had some plans.”

Yuuichi, against all odds, because that was how he and Arashiyama seemed to operate, quietly defiant against concepts like _fate_ and _odds_ and _kismet_ , laughed. He laughed, letting himself be pulled off course, master of his own fate, harbinger of his own providence.

“As long as you thought of it yourself,” Yuuichi said, letting his grip loosen on Arashiyama’s hand.  In response, Arashiyama tightened his grip.

“Can’t say the idea of a Christmas Eve date is exactly original, but it did come from my heart.”

Yuuichi liked the sound of that. He thought that maybe, all fortunes came from the heart, and any to come from Arashiyama’s heart could only presage the best.

“What else does your heart have in store for me?” Yuuichi asked, aware that their promised two hours were ticking away.

With the hand that he was still holding, Arashiyama pulled Yuuichi closer, a motion so steeped in nervousness and anticipation it sent Yuuichi’s head spinning.

They stood, facing each other, foreheads almost touching and hands still connected. The distance between them was easily breakable but they both left it be, happy to stare at the way the world moved around them, two halves of a whole, or two wholes of something more than whole, more than perfect.

In that moment, the present was the present and nothing more. Yuuichi was never weighed down by the past, never tangled up in the future.

He was simply here, with Arashiyama.

* * *

 

They found themselves in the alley that Yuuichi knew hid his store exactly two hours after Yuuichi had left it all behind, walking slowly but surely towards where the door would show itself.

A few paces later, and the only thing that greeted them was stone.

“It’s not here… Maybe we took a wrong turn?” Arashiyama suggested, confusion lining his face.

“No,” Yuuichi said, eyes loving on the place where a door once stood. Where an entire store, tucked away in some alley in Tokyo, once stood. “It means we don’t need it anymore. We aren’t lost anymore.”

White clouded the air in front of Arashiyama, a breath reverent in the face of the revelation they were having.

“You never wrote me a fortune,” Arashiyama said.

“I’ll write you one, don’t worry,” Yuuichi breathed. “It might take a while, though, so you’ll be stuck with me until then.”

A hand reached for his, pulling him back out of the alley.

“I don’t mind,” Arashiyama told him, smile on his face. “We can write one together. It’s a work in progress, our fortune,”

Yuuichi trusted nobody more to write his fate.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this fic, please consider donating to my ko-fi! it's linked in [my carrd](http://arashiyama.carrd.co) \- thank you so much if you do!


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